The Vick Saga Takes a Turn
So I haven't really kept up with the Mike Vick situation. I knew he had some dogs at one of his houses and they were bred to fight but that was it. So today I finally get back in touch with the sports world after the holiday weekend and what do I hear? I hear even more interesting events in the Vick case.
Apparently, Vick, aka Ron Mexico, would hold Friday Night Fights at the crib. But instead of turning on ESPN, the boys would roll to the backyard and drop a couple dogs in the octagon. Imagine the scene with me. A couple dozen guys (you may call them thugs) huddled together with Swisher sweets in one hand and a Bud in the other (lean if it were Texas) and a wad of cash on the wager table. They probably take this in for an hour or so, at which point they become a bit tired of all this and call in an order of wings and a side of call girls to occupy their hands and mouths (and possibly other extremities).
But that's not it. You see, Mr. Mexico and his boys aren't the brightest of men. They catch wind of the impending investigation and immediately kill off the remaining living dogs. This way the cops can't catch them red handed with injured dogs from the fighting. So his boys then bury them in the same backyard with the other dead dogs that met their match in the ring. Reports are that there are upwards of 30 dog graves in Vick's yard.
I myself think that the initial idea was pretty sweet. Take some dogs and put em in the ring together. Call up your boys and make it an event. But Mike can't be the one to organize it all. Then the heats on him. But like the decisions of his brother and the decisions he makes each Sunday in the passing game, Mike threw a pick. And it looks like the Feds may be running it the other way for a TD.
Looks like Atlanta traded the wrong QB after all.
Apparently, Vick, aka Ron Mexico, would hold Friday Night Fights at the crib. But instead of turning on ESPN, the boys would roll to the backyard and drop a couple dogs in the octagon. Imagine the scene with me. A couple dozen guys (you may call them thugs) huddled together with Swisher sweets in one hand and a Bud in the other (lean if it were Texas) and a wad of cash on the wager table. They probably take this in for an hour or so, at which point they become a bit tired of all this and call in an order of wings and a side of call girls to occupy their hands and mouths (and possibly other extremities).
But that's not it. You see, Mr. Mexico and his boys aren't the brightest of men. They catch wind of the impending investigation and immediately kill off the remaining living dogs. This way the cops can't catch them red handed with injured dogs from the fighting. So his boys then bury them in the same backyard with the other dead dogs that met their match in the ring. Reports are that there are upwards of 30 dog graves in Vick's yard.
I myself think that the initial idea was pretty sweet. Take some dogs and put em in the ring together. Call up your boys and make it an event. But Mike can't be the one to organize it all. Then the heats on him. But like the decisions of his brother and the decisions he makes each Sunday in the passing game, Mike threw a pick. And it looks like the Feds may be running it the other way for a TD.
Looks like Atlanta traded the wrong QB after all.
posted by christopher at 2:29 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home